


Everybody Talks

by Alethia



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: F/M, Gossip, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 06:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17913923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: "Is it possible you and Captain Pike were having sex in one of the gym's multipurpose rooms this morning?"Michael set down her tea with a startledcrack, heat sweeping through her. "We weresparring."Tilly looked dubious. "Did you climb on top of him?""Whilewe were sparring," Michael insisted.





	Everybody Talks

**Author's Note:**

> The Cantaran chest hold is a thing I completely made up because why the hell not. Also posted [here](https://alethia.dreamwidth.org/1017901.html).

It was 0510 and Michael couldn't sleep. Tilly was snoring away, as usual, but Michael's thoughts circled on an endless loop, from the Red Angel to her fight with Spock to Georgiou being back to seeing Ash again, and on and _on_. She felt...stuck, but she didn't know why. 

She needed a distraction. 

Deciding than an early run might do it, she pulled on her workout clothes and headed out. She started with an easy warmup, but soon her even footfalls reverberated through the empty corridors, the insistent _thunk-thunk-thunk_ quieting the maelstrom in her mind. 

She rounded the next corner—

And _slammed_ into a body coming the other way. But not just any body: Captain Pike, in his own running gear, grinning at her as he steadied them both. Sweat glistened at his hairline, his skin flushed with exertion. He looked...different. 

"Sorry about that, Commander. I should've taken the turn more carefully," Pike said, a little breathless.

Michael smiled, slipping away from his steadying hands, jogging in place to keep her heart rate up. "As should I. I've never seen you running before. First time?"

Pike quirked that little half-smile, like he was audience to some private joke. "More like every other day."

Michael stopped. "Really?"

"Bright and early, 0500. We must be on different schedules."

"I usually start at 0545. I'm sorry, I don't mean to seem surprised, it's just that Lorca never—" Michael cut herself off, not needing to go there. 

Pike got it anyway, nodding the point. "Yes, well, I find that discipline in the small things begets discipline in the big things."

"Well said, sir."

"Join me?" he asked, nodding down the corridor. 

And that was how Michael found herself running with her captain every other day. 

***

Michael put on a burst of speed for the last ten meters, sprinting to the bulkhead and touching it first, milliseconds before Pike. He laughed, shaking his head at her as he caught his breath. "You realize it's not a race?"

"Someone's gotta keep you on your toes."

"Believe me, Burnham, you do that plenty." Pike stretched out his quad, his track pants pulling across the muscled cut of his hip—

"What do you do on the other days, when you don't run?" Michael found herself asking, staring into his eyes. 

Pike switched to the other quad, breath evening out. "Alternate weight training and hand-to-hand. I've been falling down on the latter, I'm afraid. Nhan's been busy and other people don't seem to want to play."

Pike tilted his head at her, his eyes twinkling. "Join me?"

And that was how Michael found herself punching her captain in the face every fourth day.

***

Pike ducked her swing, rolling out of the way handily, and while one part of her brain admired the smooth stretch of muscle, the other was realizing something:

"I know that roll."

Pike smirked, like he was pleased she'd figured it out. "I'd hope so."

"You're trained in suus mahna?" She couldn't keep the surprise from her voice. It took _years_. Outside Vulcan, most didn't bother. There were more lethal, easier-to-learn disciplines that could be mastered in a matter of months. And aside from that, suus mahna was too spiritual for most. 

"I've picked up some basics."

Then it clicked. "From Spock, of course." Michael smiled slightly, trying not to get lost in the sting of their estrangement. 

Pike sensed her mood, offering a sympathetic look. Then it was gone, replaced by a mock-serious expression. "Your brother delights in punching me in the face almost as much as you do. Should I take it personally?"

"Absolutely, sir."

He held up his hands, beckoning her forward. "Then I suppose you should do your worst."

***

Michael zipped her uniform jacket, still feeling the ache in her tired muscles. But it was the good ache, the kind that came from rebuilding, muscle tissue broken down and knitting itself back together to form something stronger than before. 

"Michael...you're smiling," Tilly said from across the room, surprise coloring her voice. 

Michael snapped her head up. "No, I'm not."

Tilly shuffled closer, twisting her hair into a bun, a grin on her face. "Not anymore, but you _were_." She peered closer. "Is something going on?"

Michael stiffened, her spine straightening automatically.

"Oh, don't do that. I'm not—it's a good thing!" she said, bright like puppies and rainbows and fields full of sunflowers. Her relentless positivity really was something. 

Then Tilly's look turned speculative. "Ooh, is there a guy?"

Michael looked at her askance. She could do without the rampant curiosity, though. "Nothing has changed, Tilly."

"Uh-huh," Tilly said in that tone that meant _lying liar who lies_. 

Tilly's voice had _levels_. 

Sending one more quelling glance, Michael turned to the door. "I'll see you later."

***

Michael swept Pike's legs, sending him slamming to the ground, then followed up by dropping onto his chest, knees on either side of his head, feet pinning his arms. 

Pike stared, like he couldn't believe her. "A Cantaran chest hold? Are you serious right now?"

"You told me to do my worst, sir."

Pike dropped his head to the mat, skin flushed from their fight. Something about the sight struck Michael, but before she could follow that thought—"Yeah, yeah, just desserts." Pike tapped out, so formal in some ways. Michael smiled and rolled off him, offering a hand up. 

He took it, letting her haul him to standing. But he didn't let go, instead looking at her, speculative. "You know, part of me thinks you're not doing this out of the goodness of your heart." 

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, you're smiling."

Michael didn't even bother schooling her expression. "Consider it the joy I get from helping a fellow officer hone his skills."

Pike's laugh stayed with her for a while.

***

Tilly half-shoved, half-fell into the seat across from her at breakfast, energy spiking under her skin. More than usual. "Good morning, Tilly," Michael said, taking a sip of tea and not reacting. Dead calm was often effective at evening Tilly out.

"I have an awkward question for you," she said in a rush, like she didn't want to ask, but there was no way she wasn't gonna ask.

Michael smiled a little. "You have an awkward question? Imagine that."

Tilly laughed companionably for a moment, then instantly sobered. "But no, really."

Michael nodded at her to go ahead. "What's your question."

Tilly checked to make sure no one was near, then leaned in. "Is it possible you and Captain Pike were having sex in one of the gym's multipurpose rooms this morning?"

Michael set down her tea with a startled _crack_ , heat sweeping through her. "We were _sparring_."

Tilly looked dubious. "Did you climb on top of him?"

" _While_ we were sparring," Michael insisted. "Who's saying this?"

"Oh, I dunno, _everyone_. Some cadet walked in at just the right moment, hightailed it outta there, and has been telling everyone he sees. It's all over the ship."

Michael closed her eyes, searching for patience. Starship crews were the kind of busybodies that put knitting circles to shame. When she opened them, Tilly was still watching her closely. "I don't suppose you can correct the record."

"With this kind of gossip? Are you insane? You know how a ship works."

Michael did know how a ship worked. Given this level of drama—the captain's illicit affair with one of his bridge officers, in public, no less—they could both pass encephalographic polygraph scans and people would still think they were sleeping together. And because of the ranks of those involved, attention wouldn't immediately drift to the next thing. This would be all the rage for a while. 

Michael sighed. 

"Did I ruin your day?" Tilly asked, a shade regretful. 

"No, Tilly. Thank you for telling me. I'd rather be prepared than surprised."

Tilly shifted, uncomfortable. "So uhh...should someone tell the captain?"

Michael raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you volunteering?"

Tilly actually reared back in her seat, horror flickering across her face. 

"That's what I thought. There's nothing to be done, so unless it becomes an issue, I don't see why the captain needs to be distracted with this." 

Tilly nodded. "I'm sure you're right."

***

Another winning run and Michael was feeling good, smiling as she led Pike into the mess hall. This early, it was mostly deserted, only two cadets at the tail end of a very early breakfast or a very late dinner. 

"And so I said to him, 'Sir, if you don't put down the waffle iron, I'm going to have to arrest you.'"

Pike scoffed: "You had no arrest authority."

"But he didn't know that. What can I say? All else fails, brazen your way through."

Pike laughed as they reached the replicators, shaking his head at her. "Burnham, you are one of a kind." Whatever else he was about to say was interrupted by a wolf whistle, one of the cadets yelling, "Yeah, Burnham!" as he left the mess. 

Leaving Michael alone with one very confused Captain Pike. "What just happened?"

Michael shook her head. "Nothing." She turned to the replicator and ordered: "Omelet with spinach and cheddar."

She stepped aside for Pike, but he was still focused on her, mind working. "That's your comfort food order. What's up, Michael?" Pike shot her the serious look, the one that said he wasn't going to let it go, she might as well spill. 

Michael sighed. "People are under the impression that we're..." She searched for the right way to phrase it.

Pike looked at her blankly, expectant, so she waved a hand, going with: "Having some sort of affair, sir."

Pike shook his head. "I don't follow."

"It seems that someone walked in on one of our spars and got the wrong impression."

"Someone saw you punching me in the face and thought it was romance," he said, deadpan.

"More like someone saw the Cantaran chest hold and took it the wrong way."

Pike blinked...and then his eyes crinkled at the corners, his mouth quirking up. "Well, you can see how they'd get there."

"It's not funny, sir."

"It's a little funny."

Michael sent him an exasperated look, which didn't deter him at all. His eyes strayed to the door where the cadets had exited, amused. "So I take it you're the stud in this situation, bagging yourself a captain."

A fact that was a little insulting, now that she considered it. "Apparently so."

Pike clocked her irritation and smiled again, conspiratorial. "Don't worry, Burnham, you're a catch, too."

"I object to everything about this situation."

Pike waved that off. "Starships are a closed loop, you know that. People need to blow off steam. Something like this was bound to happen. It'll blow over." Then he turned to the replicator. 

Michael watched him, smiling tightly. "Yes, sir."

***

Pike walked onto the bridge with his usual flair, taking his seat and checking its panels. He shot a look over his shoulder at comms. "Bryce, what's the status on that research communique?"

Bryce's eyed widened. "Uh, Burnham didn't tell you?"

Michael frowned and looked over. "Why would _I_ tell the captain?" she asked, confused. He hadn't asked her to pass along a message. 

Bryce blinked, glancing between them. "Right. Of course."

Michael's spine stiffened as she realized what was happening. 

Pike opened his hand, irritated now. "Well, will someone tell me something?"

"Sorry, sir. Starfleet Command should have the information to us in a few hours," Bryce said, recovering his equilibrium. 

"Good. Now what the hell just happened?" Pike looked to Bryce, who opened his mouth, but was clearly reluctant to speak. Clocking that, Pike looked to Michael. 

She tilted her head and sent him a meaningful look. He knew what just happened. 

Pike's jaw flexed. "All right, everyone, stop what you're doing. Eyes on me."

The rest of the bridge crew turned to him—as if they hadn't been hanging on every word—and Pike eyed them, his mouth set in a firm line. "It's recently come to my attention that some crew members have been gossiping about me. Now, normally I could give a damn what people say, but it's interfering with our work and that I will not abide. People's personal lives are their own damn business. Be professionals. We clear?"

"Aye aye, Captain," chorused around the room. 

"Good, now get back to work." 

Everyone turned back to their stations, the usual noise level notably subdued. Michael tried to focus on her screens, but she kept catching sight of Pike in her peripheral, being wholly professional, but distracting nonetheless. 

It was a relief when he went to his ready room to take the Admiral's call. 

Michael waited an appropriate amount of time, then followed. 

She strode in at Pike's permission, looking at him frankly. "You know that wasn't a denial, right, sir?"

Pike sighed and sat back. "A denial would just give it sanction."

"I'm sorry?"

"Say I declared it absolutely false, how dare you. That would imply that it was okay for them to talk, that it was any of their business at all. This way, it's a blanket shut-down."

Michael considered that, slowly nodding. "You make a good point."

"Eh, it's been known to happen," he said lightly, making Michael smile. Then Pike sobered, studying her. "But I do have a question for you: why are you so bothered by it?"

Michael blinked, taken aback. "I'm not," she said, automatic. 

Pike frowned, disappointment blooming in his eyes. "I thought we didn't do that with each other."

And that...that actually stung. They didn't hide the truth from each other, he was right on that count. But she _wasn't_ , she was just—

Michael paused to consider.

...huh.

She looked back to Pike. "My apologies. I don't think I quite realized that it did bother me until just now." She thought about it for another moment. "To answer your question: I don't know."

Pike nodded in acceptance, the way he always did. "You should think about it. Might help to get it off your chest."

"Thank you, sir." She headed out, mind still working it over. 

Why _did_ it bother her?

***

Michael thought about it while they ran in companionable silence, easily matching each other's pace. She thought about it when she flipped Pike, only for him to roll out of it, grinning that he was hip to her moves. She thought about it when he stood in the middle of the bridge, arms crossed, fierce and relentless as he argued with Leland. She thought about it when Tilly brought him some good news and he smiled kindly, eyes crinkling at the corners. She thought about it when he turned to Saru, the light hitting his profile just right. 

She thought about it. 

***

"I want it to be true," Michael said dully, dropping onto her bed in a daze. She still wore her sparring clothes, sweat cooling on her skin. But she wasn't thinking about that; she was thinking about the way Pike had smiled and nodded in farewell, how it had hit her low, made her want, something so stupid and simple and—

"What. Is happening? Should I know what's happening? Oh, God, are you having a breakdown?" Tilly asked from her own bed, sitting up suddenly. "It's totally fine if you are. No judgment. Um."

Michael rubbed her forehead, tired suddenly. "I'm not having a breakdown."

"Okay, can we go back to the beginning of this conversation? That would be super helpful."

Michael could just skate past it, but part of her wanted to figure this out. Pike was right—getting it off her chest might help. 

"The rumors about me and Pike. He asked why they bug me and I didn't have an answer. I do now."

"Because...you want it to be true. Oh! Ooooh. Do you think he knows?"

"There is absolutely no way he knows."

"But you want him to?" Tilly said, cutting to the heart of it. So simple, yet so devastating. 

Michael shook her head, torn. "I don't know."

Tilly straightened. "Here's what _I_ know. You, Michael Burnham, are a good person who's been sad for a long time. And Captain Pike is a good man wrapped in a side of beefcake that's really not even fair to the rest of us. You should grab hold of him and just...be happy."

Michael tried to picture what that would even look like. Happiness. Love. Unbidden, her mind went to Ash—no, to _Voq_ , wearing Ash's face—his hand wrapped around her throat, sending her to death in T'Kuvma's name. A wave of fear gripped her. 

Michael shook it off, grounding herself in the present. That was done. This was now. She looked back to Tilly. "I appreciate the sentiment, Sylvia."

Tilly smiled, ever hopeful. "So you'll do it? You'll tell him?"

Slowly, Michael shook her head. "Captain Pike is only going to be with the _Discovery_ for a short while. I think it's better to just...let it lie."

Tilly's face fell. "But...better for who?"

Michael swallowed. "I'm going to take a shower."

***

Michael went through her normal routine, but it all seemed different now. She _noticed_ when she noticed his presence, the way his clothes pulled or the strength of his shoulders. So she slid her eyes away. There was no need to be disrespectful now that she was aware. She joined him on their run because that was what they did, but she stayed quiet, focusing on her breathing and heartbeat. That was the purpose, after all. 

Michael marveled at herself. After Voq, she'd vowed never to be made vulnerable like that again, and yet here she was, falling for her own feelings' sneak attack. Taunts from childhood echoed through her mind— _human weakness_ , they'd called it. Boy, did they call it. 

Pike seemed to pick up on the change, subtly shooting worried looks her way, his brow furrowed. 

She didn't know what to do about it...so she did nothing at all.

***

"Burnham, a word?" 

Michael hung back as the other bridge officers dispersed, looking at Pike expectantly. He studied something on his display until the others had gone, leaving the room still and quiet. Only then did he meet her eyes. 

"Hi there."

"Captain."

"You've been quiet lately."

Michael considered that, shrugging. "I didn't realize."

"Michael..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "I see you struggling, I just don't know why. Talk to me. Let me help."

Michael blanched a little; he'd helped enough already. She quickly controlled her expression, but not quickly enough from the stricken look in his eyes. Still, Michael forged ahead: "I appreciate the concern, but it's a private matter."

Clearly worried, Pike nodded. "Okay, well. My door's open."

"Thank you, sir."

And with that, she was out. 

***

She hadn't thought about what sparring would mean until she was standing right in front of him, cursing her lack of foresight. Normally, they were surrounded by people, or focused on running and breathing, but with sparring, they _were_ each other's focus. 

And she really didn't need Pike studying her right now. Not until she found a new equilibrium.

But there was nothing for it, too late now, so she simply raised her hands in their customary ready position, taking note of how he was favoring his left side. He'd overdone it on their run. 

She could work with that. 

Except then it all went to hell. Pike caught her first swing, palming her fist easily, wrenching it down by her side. She tried to double down, but he caught her other swing, too, holding her hands in his firm grip. He stared into her eyes, imploring. "Michael, please tell me. Whatever it is, we can fix it."

Michael flexed against his hold, but her heart wasn't in it. She didn't _want_ to move away. That was the problem. 

Instead she dropped her forehead to his chest, breathing in the scent of him. He even smelled good, damn him.

"Michael..." he breathed against her ear, making her whole body shiver. 

Pike went still at that, nothing he would have missed. His hands softened, his hold going loose. Michael sucked in a shaky breath. The jig was up anyway, she might as well admit it. 

She lifted her head so she could meet his eyes. "I want this to be real."

Pike frowned, not following. Michael nodded between them, more emphatic. "This, right here. You holding me. Us, together."

The worry leached out of his eyes, replaced by devastating warmth. Michael shook her head and looked away. "The rumors bothered me because I wanted them to be real."

Pike let her go then, but he didn't step back. Instead he brought a hand up to her cheek, careful fingers stroking like she was something precious. "We can make that happen."

Michael's heart pounded, but she just pushed him back, glaring. "Don't you get it? For the last year, I've been making _terrible_ choices. Betraying Philippa, trusting Lorca, everything with Tyler—"

Eyes flashing, Pike stepped close, covering her mouth with his, one hand circling her waist and pulling her against him. Michael breathed in, surprised, but she didn't pull away. She couldn't, melting into his endlessly soft kiss, a helpless sound ringing from her throat.

Pike inched back, eyes gleaming. "That's what matters," he murmured. "Let the past be the past."

"It's not that easy," she tried again. 

"It's as easy as we make it," he said, leaning his forehead against hers. 

And that was how Michael found herself...hoping. 

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


End file.
